Hope
by Ellsweetella
Summary: AU, post 6x23. Kate Beckett finally understood why her father drank.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi! This is a post finale one shot and I hope you will enjoy it. Please leave a review if you want to! Thank you :D Edit: I have decided to continue it as a two-shot. Next (and final chapter) will be posted by saturday.**

_Listening_

_For the hope, for the new life_

_Something beautiful, a new chance_

_Hear its whispering there again_

_-Whispering, Spring Awakening_

_The wedding_

The orange flames licked at the Mercedes, flickering and dancing in the wind.

It was a majestic sight, the flames strong and wild, uncontainable.

The woman in a white wedding dress stood before the burning car, her back stiff with shock, barely breathing.

A strangled cry escaped from her rose tinted lips.

Pained, devastated, broken.

**…...**

_One month after the wedding_

Kate Beckett finally understood why her father drank. She had promised herself not to go down the same path. She remembered how miserable her father was, how reliant he was on his alcohol, how addicted he was. She remembered the way he would stagger home drunk, the stench of alcohol filling the stale air. He would collapse on the beer stained sofa, muttering to himself incessantly. Sometimes, he had his outbursts; shouting at cursing at the wind, glass bottles shattering around him.

She had to bail him out of jail way too often. Seeing her father behind the bars, caged and chain like an animal when he was just too drunk to function.

She was angry, tired and lonely. She was afraid and there was no one there to hold her and tell her that everything was going to be fine. She had to pick her father's broken pieces up while she was broken herself. No one could help her pick up her jagged pieces. She had to do it herself.

She had lost her mother and she did not want to lose her father. So she had begged, she had yelled, she had do anything in her power to wake her father up, to stop him from drinking, to send him to rehabilitation. It took years of tears, frustration, cold words and patience to save her father from his drinking addiction, before she could have her father back.

But here she was, drinking shots after shots, as if they were water. The cold acidic liquid burned her throat, warming up her body and numbed her heart. She did not have to feel. The pain, the fear, the loneliness, the despair were dulled by the drumming in her head. The lightness of her head, the heaviness of her limbs, the blurred vision… It felt miserable, but at least she could forget. For a moment, the world only consisted of her and the alcohol in front of her.

There was no more pain.

There was no more fear.

There was no more loneliness.

There was no more emptiness.

There was no more sadness…

Who was she kidding?

It hurt. It hurt so much.

She could feel every fibre of her body, every cell, screaming in pain, washed by waves of sadness, fresh thick sadness that drowned her.

Her chest constricted and a sour rancid taste filled her mouth. She scrambled up, sweeping the contents of the table off. The sound of breaking glass rang in her head and she winced.

Beckett managed to reach the toilet before it was too late, vomiting out all the contents of her empty stomach.

She fell back onto the cold tiles, her hand running through her hair, her mind whirling.

She was so damn pathetic. She had allowed herself to be controlled by alcohol, the very demon that had almost taken her father away from her.

But then again, she had no one else now.

For sixteen years, she had been obsessing with her mother's case, driven by the motivation that she would one day, maybe one day find the killer.

It took her years in between to get over her mother's death, then even more years to stop hoping for a new breakthrough.

Then Castle came along and ripped open that wound again. And again. But he helped her. He made her better. He exposed her infected wounds and slowly healed them.

Now, he was gone too.

No more Castle.

People always left.

She was so fucking angry, so fucking furious at herself. She wasn't supposed to be this _weak_. She wasn't supposed to be a mess.

But her fiancé died on the day of her wedding.

The man who she loved, the man who saved her, the man who was always there, beside her, was _dead_.

His funeral was a quiet affair. She could not remember much, except for the hushed whispers and sympathetic gazes.

At least there was Martha and Alexis.

They were so strong, so very strong.

She did not know how they did it, to look perfectly fine on the outside when their insides were upside down.

Actually, she knew.

It had always been her.

The funeral made his death seem real, finalised. The last chapter of a book.

She could not breathe.

Her world had collapsed in just a matter of seconds.

She leaned against the wall and wished she could cry.

She had run away whenever things were bad. She had run away once more.

**…...**

_Two months after the wedding_

Kate could not recognise the woman staring back at her. She had sunken cheeks, heavy eye bags that hung lifelessly underneath the dull irises. Her hair was a mess, plastered and lifeless, loosing it's luster. She lifted up an arm, bony and thin.

Kate had lost too much weight.

She splashed the cold water against her face and pulled back her hair into a low ponytail. She found some clothes to wear, clothes that were still clean and unstained. Stepping over piles of dirty laundry and empty bottles, she grabbed her bag, left the apartment and hopped into a cab, leaving for the precinct.

"Beckett," they had all greeted her cautiously, tip toeing around her like she carried a form of infectious disease, as if a touch would shatter her. Even Captain Gates was awfully cautious around her.

Beckett. She was still a Beckett.

Not a Castle.

She sat at her desk and went over the paperwork, trying not to let her gaze fall upon that empty chair next to her. She had to focus. She had to work. She had to forget.

Ryan and Esposito were quiet, sneaking glances at her behind her back.

She could feel their stares.

She knew they were concerned and worried for her but she couldn't bear it.

The phone rang and she sighed in relief.

A new dead body. A new case. Something else to focus on.

"Girl! You look horrifying!" Lanie exclaimed when she saw Kate.

Kate managed a small smile, slightly comforted by her friend's straightforwardness. She needed that.

"So what have we got here?" Kate asked.

"Male, early 40s with a clean slit to his throat."

Kate nodded and stepped closer to the body, lowering herself to examine it.

Her stomach churned.

Her head floated.

Bile rose, filling her mouth.

She ran, gagging, throwing up all over the drain nearby. Her knees buckled and she collapsed, her head spinning, twirling over and over.

"Beckett, you all right?" someone asked her.

She took in a deep breath, steadying herself. "Yeah. I'm fine. Must have been something I ate."

She did not eat at all.

She picked herself up and walked back to the crime scene, her mind fuzzy and her legs wobbly. She could not breathe.

**…...**

"Katherine dear, you should eat more," Martha chided her gently.

"I'm fine, really. Thank you," Kate replied, setting down her fork. Her salad was a mess, being stabbed at and stirred about without being eaten.

"When was the last time you ate?" Alexis cut in, her question sharp and straight to the point.

Kate stilled.

When was the last time she ate?

"Thursday morning," she suddenly felt so small, like a child being scrutinised by her teachers.

"Kate," Alexis sighed, pleading and disappointed at once. It had been three days since Kate had last ate. Three days.

Where had the Detective she knew gone to? The Detective she had looked up to, the Detective that she trusted, the Detective who was so strong and calm no matter what.

"Eat."

Kate lifted up her fork, putting a piece of lettuce and tomato into her mouth. She forced herself to chew and swallow, her stomach churning.

She should be the strong one here.

Not Alexis, not Martha.

They had lost a father, a son. They should not be the one trying to help her, trying to fix her.

"Richard would want you to be healthy and happy, Katherine. He would have wanted you to live."

"Kate, move back in," Alexis said, "please." She gripped Kate's hand, shocked at how bony and brittle it felt.

"I need you."

Kate's eyes widened at the young girl's words, soft, brittle, pained.

She nodded, tears brimming her eyes.

"Oh come here darling." Martha moved over to Beckett and enveloped her into a big hug.

"You are one of us," Alexis smiled and joined in the hug.

They stayed there for a moment, the three Castle women together as one family.

**…...**

_Three months after the wedding_

Martha was the first one who noticed it.

Kate was getting thinner every day, despite their greatest efforts to make her eat healthily. She still ate little but at least she drank less.

While Kate's limbs were shrinking, her stomach was increasing in size, a small bulge. And she felt nauseas often, with pangs of dizziness.

"Katherine, when was the last time you had your period?" Martha had pulled her to a side and asked her quietly, straight to the point.

Kate paused, shocked by the older Castle's question.

"F-Four months ago."

Realisation dawned on the Detective.

But it couldn't be. She couldn't be…

She mustn't be….

"I think you should see a doctor, to make sure…" Martha trailed off.

"Yea," Kate whispered, fear settling in the depths of her heart.

**…...**

The test came back positive.

She did not know what to do, what to feel.

She was numb, gripping the papers in her hands, fear and happiness pulsating through her veins. What was she going to do?

She had to tell Martha. And Alexis.

She had to.

But first, she had to eat.

She went to a restaurant and ordered a salad and a soup.

She had to start eating healthily. No more skipping meals. No more drinking.

She had to be healthy again.

She forced the food into her mouth, forkful after forkful, spoonful after spoonful, chewing and swallowing to an invisible rhythm in her head.

She had to eat. She had to eat. She had to eat.

Her hand fell to her stomach, feeling the small bulge that formed.

There was a life in there, a new life.

Watching the life move in her on the screen was surreal. Hearing the heartbeat made it real.

She was pregnant. There was a life forming in her, growing in her.

A Castle. She was pregnant with a Castle.

Tears formed in her eyes and fell, dripping down her sunken cheeks.

She had to be healthy. She had to eat. She had to stop drinking.

She had almost killed her baby.

But oh god, what should she do?

She had no idea how to be a mum, how to care for a baby, how to…

How could she care for a baby when Castle was no longer by her side?

She wanted him to be there, with her. To hold her hand as they went for ultrasounds, to stroke her stomach and whisper sweet nothings to it. To press his ear against her stomach and listen to their baby.

He would be such a wonderful father, just like he was to Alexis.

He would be so proud, so happy.

But he wasn't here. Not anymore. He was gone.

Gone.

But…

But there is still part of him left, inside of her, growing, living. And she neededit. The baby needed her. And she needed her. The baby was alive.

Like a seed in a barren land starting to grow, the baby was hope.

The baby gave her hope.

Hope for a new life, for a new beginning.

Hope.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n: I am sorry. I promised to post this on Saturday but Sims 3 distracted me. I created a Richard Castle and a Kate Beckett and they are married there. So… **

Richard Castle could not move.

Every inch of his body, every fibre, every cell, screamed in pain, hot searing pain tearing through his muscles. His throat was parched, a burning sensation scratching at it. His hair was wet, lying flat against his head, sticky and heavy. His eyelids were sealed shut by the gooey blood that trailed down. His blood.

He could barely breathe. Every breath sent a jolt of searing pain through his veins.

Sometimes…

Sometimes, he wished he were…

"Dead," the voice was loud, clear and ringing, sending chills down Castle's spine.

Calloused fingers rubbed at his eyes, removing the blood and freeing his eyes.

Tyson. Jerry Tyson.

"You are dead to them," Tyson continued, every word heavy with amusement.

"You know, I went to your funeral. You would've loved it. Too bad, you weren't there," he inched forward, his face an inch away from Castle's.

Castle growled, glaring at Tyson with all that he had left inside. He was so tired, so sick. He was so tired, so so tired. He could barely keep his eyes open, to breathe.

But he would think of Kate. She believed he was dead and he knew, he knew the pain she was feeling.

It wasn't any different from his.

"No, no Castle, I am not done with you yet."

Leather snapped across Castle's bare back, leaving marks after marks, raw, red and angry.

….

How long had it been?

In the cell, it wasn't hard to lose track of time. He could not decide whether a second felt like eternity or eternity felt like a second. Sometimes time seemed to crawl by but then again, sometimes it felt like time had just slipped through his fingertips.

Darkness clouded the room, not an inch of light managing to seep through.

The only time there was light was when Tyson came. Castle had soon grown to associate light with pain, darkness with calmness. Light was no longer hope, no longer life. It was destruction, pain, fear.

Castle huddled in a corner, his forehead pressed against his raw knees, muttering to himself.

Alexis. Martha. Kate. Alexis. Martha. Kate. Alexis. Martha. Kate. Alexis. Martha Kate.

Their names became his only clutch, his only straw. Their names soothed him and calmed him down. Chanting them made him remember himself, remember that he had to go home. That he had to live, to continue breathing, to stay awake.

He must not sleep. The monsters come when he was asleep.

Alexis. Martha. Kate. Alexis. Martha. Kate. Alexis. Martha. Kate. Alexis. Martha. Kate.

He pictured them in his mind, trying to search for their faces, their smile. He tried to hear their voice, their laughter.

But the images turned into nightmares. He hated his imagination.

_Alexis was wrapped in her favourite baby blue blanket that was made with the softest cashmere. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and she was hugging her Miss Annie, her bear that she loved as a child. She looked peaceful and vulnerable, just like the six-year old she used to be. But there were angry marks around her pale throat, screaming. Her chest was not moving. She was dead. _

_Martha was sitting on a chair, on a huge stage in Broadway. She was wearing an exquisite red evening dress that made her look youthful and lively, the redness reflected on her pale cheeks. Her lips were lifted in a smile, welcoming and bright. But the hole in her chest stared at him._

_Kate was in her wedding gown, the one her mother had worn. The dress was torn and stained, ripped apart by someone strong. Cuts littered her body, bruises starting to form on her deathly white skin. Blood soaked through the lace. Her eyes were still opened, glaring at the ceiling. Her arms were stretched out, pointing the gun at the ceiling. Her stilettoes were on the floor, the heels broken. Just like her neck._

"_I will let you watch as I slowly kill them off, one by one. And you are here, not being able to stop me."_ Castle heard Tyson's words repeat themselves in his mind.

Alexis. Martha. Kate. Alexis. Martha. Kate. Alexis. Martha. Kate. Ale-

The door creaked open.

"I'm back," Tyson whispered with glee, his voice echoing through the room.

Screams bounced off the walls.

…

Tyson was keeping him alive. Castle got that, at least.

He might be torturing him but he had made sure that Castle never dies.

There was always a meal each day delivered to him without any utensils. Castle had to bend his head to eat, a dog scuffing down his meal. He used to refuse to eat as a form of rebellion but now, now he was grateful that he had food and water.

It was getting to him. The pain, the darkness, the fear, the light…

He tried to be strong, he tried to be brave. He tried to be optimistic.

No. He was still optimistic.

If there was only one thing he believed in, he believed in her.

He believed in Kate Beckett. He believed that she could live on, that she could find him.

He believed in her.

His belief had kept him breathing, kept him alive. He believed in his family. He believed in them.

He believed that one day, he could escape from this hell and Tyson would be behind the bars.

He believed…

But he was so tired, so weak, so afraid. He flinched at the sound of footsteps, he flinched at the sound of Tyson's voice, and he flinched at any movement.

The room was stifling, the air stale, heavy, thick.

He closed his eyes and chanted.

If he just continued believing…

….

He had made Tyson furious again. Him and his stupid mouth.

His impertinence had earned him five rounds of twenty whips and three rounds of electric shocks.

By the time Tyson was done with him, Castle was limp on the ground, his blood leaving a trail.

Tyson was surprisingly angry that day, unusually jumpy and irritable. Something had got on his usually calm nerves and it had excited Castle.

It meant that someone was closing in on Tyson. Someone was coming.

For the first time, Castle could sleep, even for a while. He knew that he could find a way out soon.

As time went by, Tyson grew careless.

….

The door slammed open.

Light flooded into the dark moist room, blinding Castle. He lifted up his hand, shielding his eyes from the brightness that pierced his eyes.

"Castle." the voice, it sounded so, so familiar.

"Oh god, Castle. Castle…" the woman said his name with so much love and relief.

She was cupping his face softly, her thumb stroking his cheeks.

His eyes grew accustomed to the light.

_Beckett. Kate. Oh, Kate. _

He slowly touched her face, her face that was stained with tears.

Her hair was longer now and she had a glow to her, despite the eye bags that hung under her hazel eyes.

Was she real?

"I'm here. I'm here Castle, I'm here," she whispered into his ears, her voice soft and tender.

She smelt of cherries and springtime.

"God, Castle. I love you. I love you." She hugged him, strong but gentle, soft but hard.

_I love you. I love you too. _He wanted to reply her, to tell her but the words wouldn't come.

But it didn't matter. She knew that. She had found him.

He was back home, to her.

…..

She was seven months pregnant. She was already pregnant a month before the wedding.

He was gone for six month. For six months, they had believed he was dead.

But it was ok now. He was home, with his mother, with his daughter and with the love of his life. Tyson was truly dead, bullets through his chest.

It was ok.

It was ok.

It wasn't.

He had nightmares, haunting nightmares about his days under Tyson. He could always feel the pain, the fear, thick and real. He had panic attacks too. Every time he tried to go out, irrational fear clouded his mind. His lungs constricted, the world spun and he could not breathe. Everything was loud, everything was bright and everything reminded him of Tyson.

The psychiatrist said he had posttraumatic stress disorder.

But Kate was there. Kate was there to help him, to heal him. The baby-a girl, he was having a baby girl-was there. The baby needed him. Kate needed him. He needed them.

Alexis and Martha was there too. They did not know the fear; the pain but they understood his feelings. They were there and that was enough. They were supporting him and that was enough.

Kate understood. Kate knew what he was going through. And Kate held his hand, Kate held him as they slept, Kate made him feel safe and whole again.

She was there for him and he was there for her.

And he was overflowing with so much love that it overwhelmed him.

…

He was getting better everyday under his family's care. His nightmares weren't that frequent and he could go out without having panic attacks as often.

He and Kate were finally married. It was a really small ceremony, only consisting of Martha, Alexis, Kate's father and a few close friends-Lanie, Esposito, Ryan…

It was enough. They did not need something big, something extravagant, and something expensive.

They just need each other. They had survived so many trials, lost each other so many times and now, they were finally, finally together.

Always.

Seeing Kate in a simple wedding gown, a flush tickling her cheeks, he never felt happier.

Now, she was officially Katherine Beckett _Castle _(she had changed her last name to her middle name).

He had talked to Kate's stomach, telling their daughter about their adventures, telling her about their family. He felt the baby kick and move. He saw the happiness and love in Kate's eyes, in her smiles. He saw the love in his mother's eyes, Alexis's eyes.

He knew that he was safe. His family was safe.

….

The baby came in the middle of the night. Kate was rushed into the hospital, with Castle, Martha and Alexis behind.

Kate had yelled, screamed and begged as she pushed with all her might, squeezing Castle's hand till it turned white. Castle whispered words of encouragement into Kate's ear.

Finally, she had given birth at three in the morning, sweat drenching through her clothes.

They named the baby Nadia. _Hope_.

She was hope, Kate's hope for the future, Castle's hope for their life.

Nadia was tiny in his hands, so small and fragile, yet so strong.

Kate looked stunning as she held Nadia for the first time, her eyes glistening with love and sheer happiness. She looked up at Castle, the biggest grin on her face.

"She's beautiful," she whispered, breathless with awe and amazement.

"She is," he grinned and draped his arms around his wife's shoulders.

It felt right to be with them, safe and sound.

"I love you."

"Always."


End file.
